Ten year old Britney Dillon was rooting in her grandmother's attic for no reason other than kids of her age liked to see what treasures they could unearth. A grandmother's attic was pretty much the best place to be, the girl had decided. It was, unlike looking for treasure in the Indiana Jones' films, relatively safe (though the occasional small spider might make her jump) and not too far from Grandma Josie if she found something interesting and wanted to know what it was.

Like the corset she had found. All straps and hooks and in a shade of pink that made Britney feel slightly puzzled how anyone could get into one and still breathe. And those suspenders... surely no one wore things like that. But Grandma had chuckled when Britney took it down stairs, wanting to know what it was. Grandma Josie put it on over her dress to show Britney how it worked and how the suspender clips worked. "Women in those days wore stockings, so these helped keep them up. Except we called them nylons." She sighed. "And very expensive too, they were. We couldn't afford them all the time so we would stain our legs with tea. Made us girls look like we had stockings on!"

Britney nodded, but still wasn't sure if the pink monster wasn't some sort of apparatus for torturing a person. She had that sort of imagination: in her world there were treasure hordes and also prisoners in torture chambers and slaves. Prisoners who needed rescuing by treasure hunters and slaves who worked doing... well, she wasn't sure. But they would do something in the castle, no doubt.

Grandma's attic though wasn't a castle. It was dusty and the light that came through the grubby roof-light gave it all a sense of olde-worlde charm. There had to be treasure here, of course. Sure, Grandma was 67 and that really was ancient; she had probably lived in a castle once, Britney decided. It followed then that among these boxes and cases was real treasure. Sure, the corset was a find, and so was all those chains in a box. But they weren't silver and though they gleamed in the light they wouldn't be worth anything. Not like finding emeralds or rubies or even pearls.

But there was a pearl necklace in a small box, and Britney rushed downstairs with that only to be disappointed. "Fake," said Grandma Josie as she was mixing a cake. "Don't know what they were made of but they weren't from an oyster. That would be too expensive."

Britney thought about oysters and decided that was a made up story. Everyone knew all the gems came from the ground, not the sea. Unless it was a pirate's treasure chest, of course. And then there would be ladies tied to the mast or made to walk the plank because they knew where the treasure was.

The ten year old had gone back to her treasure hunting, determined to find a sparkling diamond at least. But each box yielded nothing but old clothes and dusty papers and ornaments of dogs with one ear missing or a dull brass candelabra with a frayed electrical wire hanging from it. Britney even began to think she might have to settle for something like a jar of gold coins, but that proved elusive too.

She might have given up on the great treasure hunt that would transform all their lives -- herself and mum and dad as well as Grandma Josie -- but one last box sat looking at her. Now, Britney knew boxes normally don't look at people -- it's the other way round. But for Britney is was like an appeal from Blackbeard himself. 'Open me up, me hearty, and find me the Treasure.'

Perhaps though it was because there was a padlock on it, because it was pretty certain that real treasure wasn't just left in boxes anyone could open. Britney tried to see if the lock was broken, but it held firm. She shook the box and it rattled. Not like gold coins but something was in it that slid around.

"Fine," said the girl to herself. "I will find a key to unlock you." She went downstairs to ask Grandma Josie where she kept any keys but the old woman had popped out to see the woman next door while the cake baked in the oven and Britney felt disappointed. Oh well, treasure hunters had to seek for themselves and she began going through kitchen drawers looking for keys.

There were none to be found, and then the girl remembered that once, in Grandma's dressing table, she had seen a key. She headed up to Grandma's Josie's bedroom and quickly found the solitary key where she had seen it months before when she had been playing some 'singing star gets made-up' game. She knew she ought to ask before she took anything, but Grandma wouldn't mind, the girl decided and went to the attic.

The key fit the lock perfectly, and with a single click it opened.

Britney had always tried, in her young life, not be too disappointed by anything. If there was no treasure she reasoned there may be a clue to where it was, but there was no gold, no money, no gems. No obvious clue either like a map. All there was to be seen was a brown envelope with some pictures in it. No doubt pictures of Grandma Josie when she lived in the castle with tea-stained legs, Britney thought. She tipped the pictures out, wondering if any corsets were on show too.

The pictures were like nothing she had seen before: they were black and white and curled at the corners, but still clear. Some thirty or so photos of a little girl, no older than Britney herself, but with curly blonde hair where Britney had straight hair. The little girl in the pictures was naked, and she was tied up.

In itself this didn't surprise Britney, but she sat down nonetheless. In olden times there were (the girl was sure) prisoners in castles, but the girl in these pictures wasn't in some great hall in front of log fire and knights on guard. The girl was tied up in what looked suspiciously like a front room with a sofa in the background. Britney went through the pictures, one by one, studying them. In some the girl was sat on a normal chair, arms tied behind her. In others she was sat in the same place but legs bound. In another one, the girl had something over her mouth, wound round her head.

But she didn't look upset. Not like Britney's friend Lily was last summer when Britney thought they should play cops and robbers. Lily would have been the perfect robber to be tied up but she cried and said she hated Britney and didn't want to be all tied up and left lying on her tummy on the garage floor while Britney went to get a drink. Well, Britney untied her later when she remembered Lily was left there.

Funny girl that Lily, Britney had always thought. Fancy not wanting to play the part of the robber again.

But Lily wasn't here, and the girl in the photos looked happy, almost. Even with that cloth over her mouth.

Then there were pictures of the girl tied like Britney had wanted to tie Lily. A sort of lying on her front with arms tied behind and hands tied to ankles. Now if Lily had seen these pictures she would have seen that there wasn't anything wrong with being tied like that. See, all sorts of people do it and they don't make a fuss, Britney would have told the cry-baby. In a couple of those series of pictures the girl had that cloth round her mouth too, except this time it was more in her mouth than across it.

Finally, there were half-a-dozen pictures of the same girl, but they had been taken outdoors. The little girl wasn't naked in these. She was wearing a nice dress with hearts on it, but it was a sunny day in some woodland and she as tied to a tree with lots of ropes round her body and arms and legs. In some of them she had that in the mouth cloth and in one she had something that looked like parcel tape over her mouth, too.

One last picture showed the girl standing on a tree stump, her mouth taped up and her arms and legs tied with lots of rope, with a rope round her neck that was attached to a tree branch above the girl's head. For some reason, Britney found that one the most fascinating and turned the picture over. On the back in pencil was a name: Saffron Woods, and date. July, 1953.

Ah yes, Saffron. That was a name one of the girls in her class had. Except she was Saffron Blake. Not Woods at all.

Britney looked up at the old boxes around her. She was sure that in among them she had seen a dress like the one in the picture. A real little girl's dress, she thought. So she put the photos down and searched again for it. She found it after a few minutes and held it up to the light. Yes, dark blue with small pink hearts on the dress, with a frill on the bottom hem. Old fashioned, but the question was how had Grandma managed to get this dress of the Saffron Woods girl?

Britney heard her Grandma calling her, so she put the dress down, pushed the photos back in the envelope and went down to the kitchen. "Grandma," she asked as the old woman was rescuing the slightly overdone cake from the oven, "who's Saffron Woods? I know a girl called Saffron Blake but I don't like her."

"Saffron Woods? Don't know her," said the old woman, tutting over the burnt cake.

"Okay. You see, there was this pic--" The phone rang and that stopped Britney. The old woman wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to answer it. It was a long conversation with someone called Millie, and Britney grew tired of waiting to ask about the picture of the tied up girl called Saffron standing with a rope round her neck. She wondered what had happened to her, because if she fell then the rope round her neck would have been dangerous. Everyone knew that. Unless they were being tortured, because tortured prisoners had things like that done to them and couldn't complain.

Just as Grandma finished the phone call Britney's mum arrived to collect her daughter and she was full of news for the older woman of some bargain at the mall and they really must go and look but she had no petrol and had better go an get some. Britney sighed and wandered off. Shopping bored her and she didn't want to go to the petrol station either. It was miles in the other direction. She made her way back up to the attic, locked the box with the photos in it and took the key back to where she found it. Then, on the spur of the moment, she went and got the little girl's dress and put it on. It was her size but it felt funny, the way it flared out at the bottom. It was short, too. The sort of things girls wouldn't wear these days. Standing in the attic in the light coming through the roof window the girl did a little twirl and wished there was mirror so she she could see herself. Well, there was one in Grandma's bedroom, so Britney went down there to see herself.

Yes, it looked very old-fashioned and very silly with its pink ruffled hem. But on the other hand, it felt cool and better than jeans. Maybe the girl called Saffron didn't have any jeans, she thought, impossible though that seemed. Britney held the hem out and inspected her reflection.

"Britney, sweetheart, where did you get that?" It was Grandma, standing at the bedroom door.

"In the attic, Grandma. It was just lying around in a box so I thought I'd try it on. It's pretty isn't it?"

"Yes," said the old woman, staring at her granddaughter.

"It's treasure. I found it. It was Saffron's," Britney said, doing another twirl.

"Saffron? Oh that girl... Saffron Woods.... Right?" The old woman's face creased and she sounded puzzled. Then her face went pale and she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Britney... I think you should take it off. Your mum has gone to get some petrol and she will want to take you home when she gets back--"

"But this was Saffron's" interrupted the ten year old. "I like it, so can I wear it when I come here? I mean, she doesn't want it now, right?"

The old woman looked round desperately as if that might help her work things out, about how much the child knew and how much she was guessing. The woman stood up and crossed to the drawer where she kept the old padlock key. She looked relieved it was still there. "Listen, sweetheart... Saffron Woods. It's a place, not a person. I went there when I was little. My uncle-- I mean, my mum took me there. And that dress. It used to be mine. One of my favourites."

"Cool," grinned Britney. "So I can keep it then, Grandma?"

"I don't know... I mean it's old and not as nice as your clothes." Josie paused. "How did you know about Saffron Woods?" Another pause, but more brief. "Please be honest, Britney. I need to know."

Britney was still twirling, enjoying the feel of the dress. "So were you the one in the photographs, Grandma?"

The woman sat back down on the bed, more heavily this time. "Oh God... yes," she whispered as the girl's question hit home.

"Listen, sweetheart. Promise me... You must promise never to tell anyone," said Josie after a moment or two. "Not say a word about those pictures. Not even to mummy. They have to be our secret."

"But they're only silly pictures. Of you being a prisoner. No one will mind."

"A prisoner, yes... I suppose I was," the woman shook her head. "It was along time ago, but they will mind."

"So if I stay quiet about them and not say anything then I can wear this dress when I come to see you here?" Britney plucked at the hem of the dress again. "I really like it."

"What?" Josie blinked. "Yes, of course. But those pictures. You know you shouldn't have been looking at them. They are, well, private."

"But they're only pictures and you looked happy. Even the one in this dress. Didn't you fall off that log thing?"

"Oh that,the stump... no, it was staged. That means I wouldn't have been hurt. It was, well, meant to look dangerous but it wasn't. The man who took the photos said I was a Damsel In Distress."

"Damsel!" Britney grinned again. "That's like in the old days. See, I knew you lived in a castle."

"It's just a phrase, and no, I didn't live in a castle. Just a house like this with my mum."

"And your uncle too."

"Oh, no. He was... he was my mum's friend. He was a young man, younger than my mum. I called him Uncle Ken. He was starting out as a photographer and he liked taking pictures of girls in distress--"

"Damsels," corrected Britney.

Josie nodded and gave a weak smile. "Yes, I was a damsel then."

"And when you hadn't got this dress he tied you up and took pictures of you then." When Josie looked puzzled, the girl pressed on. "I mean, Grandma, you were naked. Like in the bath."

"Yes, I was naked." The woman blushed a little. "But only some in the bath. I mean, he took other pictures too."

"Can I see them?"

"What? No... he took them away. I think he said they would sell." Josie blushed more. "But back then people didn't mind seeing young girls tied up. No one minded young girls naked. Providing I kept my legs together. That was why they were tied."

"And your arms were tied so you couldn't take the ropes off?"

Josie nodded. "And gagged so I couldn't ask to be released."

A light dawned in Britney's eyes. "Oh yes, that cloth thing. And the tape over your mouth. That looked cool."

"I suppose it was. Uncle Ken liked me like that."

"What, all gagged?"

"Yes, all gagged." There was the sound of a car in the drive. "That will be your mummy, come back from the petrol station. Sweetheart, you need to keep your promise. No one must know."

"Okay," a brief pause. "And I keep my new dress?"

"Yes, of course. I will put it away for you."

The girl smiled and began to take it off. "Grandma, when you were tied up, did your uncle use chains on you?"

"There weren't any pic--" the woman stopped herself. "Ah, you found the chains too. I knew I should have got rid of them."

"So when you were tied up in chains, was that good too?"

The woman looked at her granddaughter in her vest and panties, putting her jeans on. Then she looked at the dress on the bed next to her. Her lovely reward for being chained up and tied up; a nice new expensive dress, all the way from London. "Yes, it was very good."

"Slaves and prisoners get chained up," said Britney. "I saw some pictures in a book. I thought it looked good."

"Good?"

"Yeah, you know. Being chained up. I'd like that. And the gag thing looked good."

Grandma Josie looked at her granddaughter but didn't say anything. She went downstairs to let her daughter in and listened to her complain about the price of petrol and how slow the man was in the garage.

Over the next ten minutes while Britney got ready to go, the woman thought over what the ten year old had said. And as her daughter and granddaughter left, she managed to whisper to the girl. "If you keep your promise, you will have more than the dress. I promise."

"Cool," whispered the girl back. "I love you Grandma damsel."

"And I love you Granddaughter damsel. Now be good."

After she had waved them off, the grandmother went to the phone, thought for a moment and then dialled the number of a very old friend. "Hi, it's Josie here. Yes, long time ideed... listen, you still got your camera?"

She listened for a short while, and then asked: "And you still like the old things, the little girls tied up? Or chained up? Yes, of course I still have the chains, uncle Ken. If that will help. And I know a pretty little girl I think will just love standing on a stump in Saffron Woods."

The end